North of Need (Hearts of the Anemoi, #1) (12 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“No!” Megan moaned. She wrenched his wrist back from the flow. “Oh my God.” Her mouth dropped open as, before her eyes, his fingers reappeared. Filmy at first, then solidified. She grabbed his miraculously restored hand and hugged it to her chest. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again!”

With his other hand, Owen stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What if…damn it, Owen. What if you hadn’t come back?”

“I did.”

“Yeah, but what if you couldn’t. Oh my God! How did you get the pizza into and out of the oven?”

He blushed. He actually frickin’ blushed. “Uh, well—”

“Did this same thing happen then, too?”

He twisted his lips, looked up at her through his hair. “I am strong, Megan. I can weather short exposures to heat.”

She gripped his hand harder. Needed to know he was okay. Solid. She shook her head, refusing to cry again. Her tear ducts had gotten enough of a workout these past few days. But wasn’t this exactly what scared her? That something bad would happen to him while he was helping her?

“Wait. You said ‘for now.’ You had to take cold showers, for now. What does that mean?” Her stomach clenched.

He laid his head on his arms, his expression earnest but guarded. “If you decide to choose me, if you could love me, I’ll be freed from the limitations of my current form.”

She knew he’d say that, on some level she knew everything hinged on her loving him.

It seemed something of a circular problem, though. She was afraid to love him, in case he’d disappear. Yet, keeping him here seemed to depend on her loving him. Trying to piece together
that
puzzle would take more brainpower than she had at the moment.

“Does that mean you’ll become human? If…” The rest of the sentence stuck in her throat.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means.”

“Oh, Owen, I do care for you, but I—”

Fingers pressed against her lips, quieted her apology. “I understand. It’s been very little time. I do not mean to pressure you. Now, relax, settle back. Enjoy your bath. I’ll keep you company, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. More than okay.” She kissed his fingers, one small peck on the pad of each finger, then released him and floated back through the now-deeper water. Reclining against the carved back of the tub, Megan blew out a deep breath in an effort to release pent-up stress.

Sometimes they spoke softly, sharing stories about their lives, asking questions to get to know the other better. Sometimes they sat in comfortable silence. Either way, Owen was such wonderful company. How Megan had missed that. And now, at long last, she’d found it again. Warm, pleasant pressure filled her chest.

After a while, the water cooled and Megan’s skin pruned. She pulled the plug with her toes, earning one of his playful grins.

“Hand me a towel?”

He rose, grabbed a thick length of chocolate brown terry cloth. “Must I?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. It’s chilly when I’m all wet.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “I could warm you.”

“I’m sure you could. But first, towel.” He handed it over with a big show of reluctance. She yanked it from his hands, adoring the way he made even the simplest things so much fun.

She wrapped the towel around her hair, then sweet-talked him into a second one for her body. He held her hand as she stepped out over the tall edge.

Pouting, he stuck a finger between her cleavage and tugged at the terry, peeking down into the gap. She hugged him.

“Megan?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s something I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you.”

§

Owen smiled down at Megan, hair and body wrapped up in brown towels. Skin all pink and warm and fragrant. A myriad of expressions played out on her face. Her openness and acceptance unleashed a safe, comforting warmth within his chest.

He was dying to take care of something for her, and now seemed the perfect time. What good were his powers if he couldn’t help her?

“Uh, okay? What is it you wanted to do?”

“Go sit on the bed. I’ll be right there.”

She braced her hands on her hips. “What you’ve wanted to do involves the bed?”

He laughed, a wonderfully satisfying sensation in its own right. “Well, yes. Now that I’ve had you I can safely say I’ll always want you, bed or not. But I suggested the bed because I thought it would be a comfortable place to wait for a moment. I need to do something first.”

“Uh huh.” She bit down on her bottom lip, tried to restrain a grin.

“Good to see where your mind is, though.” He tugged her into a hug as she scoffed. “Go on, I’ll be right there.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

He smacked her bottom as she strutted past him.

“Hey!”

Owen chuckled, watched her hips shimmy under the short length of towel. Mmm. He adjusted himself in his borrowed pants. At some point he would need clothes of his own. He dashed from the bathroom, more comfortable out of the steamy air, and made for the front door.

Sockless and shirtless, he stepped onto the porch. The night air fortified him. He drank in deep gulps of it. Eager to finish his task and get back to Megan, he jogged down the steps and dug cupped hands into the snow. He brought icy handfuls to his mouth, again and again. Oh, gods. The frozen crystals filled him with renewed power, strength, eased away the draining impact of the oven, the bathwater, the steam.

Now he would be able to do what he’d been yearning to do.

He scooped up one more handful, taking the refreshing coldness of the winter elements into himself. His body hummed with nature’s energy.

He stilled his body and extended his mind. Issued the request for an audience. Head bowed, he waited.

An electric ripple and whirl of wind announced Boreas’ arrival. “Owen.”

“My Lord, thank you for coming.” The wind grazed Owen’s hair. He lifted his head.

Boreas nodded. “All you ever have to do is ask. I only hope you know this.”

The sentiment made Owen stand taller. “Yes.”

“You want to know about Zephyros.”

Owen met the Supreme God’s serious metallic gaze. “Any change?”

Boreas tugged at his beard. “No. He’s ignoring me, completely refusing to recognize my summons.”

Owen blew out a breath and looked up at the star-brightened sky. “Three days, then.”

“Yes, no more, and maybe less. I’m sorry, son.”

The older god’s affection bolstered him. “I appreciate that, Boreas, but this is no fault of yours.” Owen managed a small smile. Even though there wasn’t much else he could do, Boreas’ support made him feel like he wasn’t in this all alone. First Megan, now his god. How he’d missed this sense of belonging and connectedness he’d suddenly found after so very long. “Well, I suppose I best get back inside.”

Boreas gave a wry smile. “Good luck.”

The wind caressed Owen’s hair, kicked up around him, and left him standing alone in front of the cabin.

Owen refused to let the news steal even a bit of the joy he’d found in the last two days. He’d simply had to show her, make her see, which reminded him she awaited his return.

Just inside the door, Owen paused, letting his body acclimate to the indoor temperature. Thirty seconds. A minute. He closed the door behind him. Waited. He didn’t want to go to Megan distressed. But it was better this time. The snow gave his body reserves of power from which to draw.

Finally, he strode into the bedroom.

“Hey, there you are. I was beginning to worry about you,” she said with a warm smile. She was sitting against the headboard, book in hand, the towel from her hair discarded and the blonde curls mostly dry.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to take so long.” He climbed up on the bed. She reached out to him as he moved to her. He crawled over her covered legs and straddled her thighs, then plucked the book from her hands and set it aside face down, preserving her page. “Now. May I kiss you?”

“At this point, you really don’t have to ask. Consider it a standing invitation.”

His heart stuttered. He liked the sound of that. Tilting her chin up with his fingers, he leaned in.

She gasped. Grabbed his hands in hers and pulled them away. “Holy crap! Your hands are like ice! Were you outside?”

“Yes. Sorry.” He brought his hands to his mouth and blew. They warmed on command.

“Are you okay? I mean, did you need the cold?”

Her concern eased the tension he carried over the impending change in weather and added another layer to his affection for her. He could count the number of beings who truly cared for him on one hand. And not even use all the fingers. His hands found her face again. “I’m okay, now. Better?”

She nodded. “Perfect.” She gripped his wrist and squeezed, stroked his skin with her thumb. “Now, some god around here promised me a kiss.”

“That would be me.” He found her sweet, full lips. Wonderful as they were, though, her lips weren’t his destination. He traced little kisses full of adoration up her left cheek to her cheekbone until he encountered the scabbed-over frostnip.

Power flared in his chest. He opened his mouth, swiped his tongue over the full length of the wound. Absorbed her pain into him.

§

Megan gasped. Dizziness and confusion descended. Something…something was happening. She gripped onto Owen’s biceps, struggling against the loss of equilibrium. Pleasure surged, too, where his lips trailed fire over her skin, but then he’d licked her, and… She didn’t even know how to describe it. Pins and needles. Zero gravity. Déjà vu. All of the above together, and more.

Owen pulled back from the kiss heavy-lidded, wearing a look of total satisfaction. His gaze, full of that unnatural light, skimmed from her cheek to her eyes. Words spilled from his lips that Megan didn’t understand, a foreign language she’d never before heard. He spoke with a quiet passion.

Megan’s heart thundered within her chest. She panted. Her equilibrium restored and the room righted itself once again. “What just happened?” she whispered.

“I’ve been dying to make it better,” he said in a quiet, reverent tone.

With a shaky hand, Megan palmed her cheekbone. She dragged fingers over the skin there, the smooth, scab-less skin. She pushed against Owen’s chest, wriggled her legs underneath him. “Let me up. Please. Owen?”

She had to be imagining this, right?

Owen swung his leg off and frowned, watching her.

Her shivers had as much to do with the palpable magic of the moment as with the cold air and minimalist towel covering she still wore. She skidded into the bathroom and flicked on the light.

Chapter Sixteen

Healed. The frostnip was healed.

Megan gaped into the mirror, leaned in. Instead of the crusty scab, the skin was healthy, free of the blemish created when she’d laid crying on the snowman. On Owen.

She whirled away from the mirror, found him leaning cross-armed against the doorjamb to the bathroom, head down. “How?” she whispered.

He shrugged one muscled shoulder. “You got that creating me. I wanted to make it better.”

Megan’s heart seized in her chest. She flew at him and wrapped her arms around his big body. “That is…I can’t believe… Thank you,” she managed around the lump in her throat.

Owen’s arms surrounded her. He kissed her hair, laid his face against the crown of her head. “I would do anything for you,” he said in a quiet voice.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Megan drank in their image. Owen was tall and dark, eyes blazing and brimming with emotion. And, jeez, she wasn’t sure she’d ever looked better than all folded within his embrace. A part of her bristled at the thought, cried disloyalty on behalf of John. But, then, he’d sent Owen to her, hadn’t he? He’d wanted her to be happy. Was it so wrong of her to accept what John wanted her to have?

She turned her head to nuzzle into Owen’s chest. From the corner of her eye, she was sure she’d seen something glint in the light. She pressed a kiss to Owen’s bare chest and pulled away, stepped back to the mirror again. Leaning over the sink, she smoothed her fingers over her cheek and inspected the area.

There! She gasped.

“Oh, my God.” Her eyes flashed to Owen in the mirror. He shifted feet and crossed and uncrossed his arms.

Heart racing, her gaze returned to her own reflection, this time easily finding what had caught her attention. At the back of her cheekbone, at the edge of where the scab had extended, was a little white mark, no bigger than the tip of a pencil’s eraser. In the shape of a snowflake. Her fingers couldn’t tell it was there, but she could just make out its six pointed arms stretching out from an intricate central star. When the light caught the marked skin just right, it glimmered.

“Owen?” she whispered. Dragging her eyes away from the impossible little mark, she turned to face him, sagged back against the counter. So many reactions competed for center stage, her brain nearly froze.

He came to her, grasped her hands. “I’m sorry. Healing is not my normal…area of expertise. The frostnip was going to scar. When I realized I couldn’t remove the wound in its entirety, that it would leave a mark, I thought… Gods, I’m sorry.” He tugged at his hair with both hands, stepped away.

Instead of an ugly scratch of a scar, he’d given her a beautiful piece of himself. A snowflake. Small and discreet, noticeable if you knew to look, but otherwise really just for her. A gift.

“Don’t be sorry.” She stretched up on tiptoes and kissed him, her clutching hands forcing him to bend down to her height. “I don’t mind,” she said around the edge of a kiss. “I love it, in fact.” The power he demonstrated healing her, marking her—she was dazzled. Her heart and stomach fluttered.

All of a sudden, something occurred to her.

She looked up into Owen’s heated gaze. “Did you have to go outside to be able to do that, heal my cheek?”

He nodded. “The snow intensifies my power. So, it helped.”

Megan frowned. “Did it hurt you to do it?”

“Gods, Megan.” His voice sounded almost choked up. He pressed a long kiss to her forehead.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, you said everything right.”

She spread her fingers out on his strong, broad chest, skimmed them up around his neck. “Then what is it? You seem upset.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. It’s just… I’ve been alone a long time. Your concern, it’s…” He shook his head again, stumbled over the words.

All at once she understood. She thought of him being orphaned, losing the only family he’d known to train as a god, of Chione’s betrayal, of leaving the other gods to make it less awkward for everyone. Who did Owen have to express concern? To worry over him, for him? Megan feared she knew the answer, and didn’t like what she suspected one bit.

Maybe she could be that person for him.

The idea was as appealing as it was terrifying. She’d had someone to care for once, and he’d been ripped away in the dark of night, leaving a gaping hole in her life. Could she take that risk again, chance that kind of life-altering loss? She shuddered.

Owen rubbed his hands up and down her back, long soothing strokes from towel to bare skin. With his touch, he took care of
her
, calmed
her
.

She inhaled a deep breath and resolved to take care of him right now. Nodding her head toward the bedroom door, she said, “Come with me.” Holding hands, they walked back into the bedroom. When they stood at the bedside, she cupped his face in one hand. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome.”

With her free hand, she tugged the thick terrycloth away from her body and let it drop to the floor. “I want you,” she said.

Flaring eyes raked down her body. He licked his lips and kissed her cheek over the snowflake. “I’m glad you love this.” He kissed it again, let his tongue caress the skin there. “Because I find you wearing my mark so fucking sexy.”

Megan gasped, sagged into him. The possessiveness in his tone readied her between her thighs. Being marked by him thrilled her in ways she didn’t fully understand. But she didn’t think on it long. Instead, she grasped the waistband of his sweatpants and shoved them over his hips. Together, they worked them off.

Already hard, his erection jutted out against her, igniting flames under her skin whenever they touched. Her mouth watered. Kissing his neck and jaw, she said, “I’m gonna take care of you now, Owen.” Then she dropped to her knees and licked his hard length from base to tip.

Owen groaned deep in his throat.

Under her eyelashes, she peeked up at him. That magical light flashed behind his mismatched gaze. She swirled her tongue around his swollen head, savored the taste of him. Evidence of his arousal leaked onto her tongue. She closed her lips around him and sucked him in a little at a time, reveling in his taste, in how much she affected him.

His grunts and muttered exclamations echoed down to the nerves between her legs until her own moisture slicked up her thighs. She wrapped her hands behind the backs of his legs, loving the way his muscles clenched, and used the leverage to suck him harder, faster. To pull him deeper into her mouth.

Groaning, he threaded his fingers into her hair, exerted pressure. Just a little.

She moaned around him, thrilled at every bit of control he lost. Shaking with desire, she dragged her hands up the backs of his thighs until she could grab his ass. She pulled him tight, sucked him down deep.

He cried out loud enough that the sound echoed in the room. He thrust once, then exploded. Within her intimate grip, all six-plus feet of his huge body trembled and shuddered. His hold tightened in her hair.

Megan drank him down, his taste spicy and male. Pleasing him made her feel victorious. Her chest filled with a satisfied warmth.

When he calmed, she rose on shaky legs. The moisture between her thighs was even more noticeable standing. She clenched her muscles, igniting sparks from her center that radiated into her legs and stomach. His cock rebounded against her hip.

He gripped her waist and chucked her onto the mattress. She gasped and screamed out laughter even as her body bounced on impact.

Then he mounted her, pinning her wrists to the bed. He kissed her, long and deep, his tongue exploring her mouth. She groaned, totally enthralled that he didn’t seem to mind the taste of himself in her.

They kissed and writhed together until Megan found herself about to beg for him to take her. She ached for the fullness only he could give. A thought sprung to mind and, before she lost her nerve, she gripped his shoulders and shoved, hard.

Owen fell to the side, mouth open, eyebrow arched. His quizzical expression spurred her on. She pushed him until he was prone, and then she straddled him. Hands braced on his shoulders, she dragged her wetness against his length, his pleasured groan and desperate grip on her hips urging her to draw out their anticipation.

When she could wait no longer to possess him, she met his gaze. His erection throbbed in her hand. She sank down on him, took him into her body without hesitation or reservation. He unleashed a guttural moan, wrenched his head back into the pillow. God, this felt so right—he filled her body like he’d been made for her; every moment together, he breached the grief-fortified walls around her heart.

She pulled his hands from her hips and placed them on her breasts, urged him to grip and massage her. “Just feel,” she whispered. He nodded and licked his lips, his heavy-lidded gaze darting from one part of her to another.

Rising and lowering again and again, she rode him, their gazes locked, their labored breaths resounding in the night-darkened room. The bathroom light cast a triangle of diffused gold over them. He was so beautiful,
so
darkly beautiful. A warm pressure fluttered in her stomach. She gasped, fell forward over him, her nipples dragging against his chest. He pulled her down for a long, deep kiss, and she was lost in him. He was all she could see, all she could smell, all she could feel. His pleasured grunts and murmurings thrilled her as they always did.

Her Owen. Always so enthusiastic.

Her Owen.

How easy would it be to just leap. Her heart was getting there, was finding it easier and easier every moment to imagine the jump, the free fall, landing in that soft place of togetherness and partnership. But her head…her head couldn’t stop with the “what ifs.” Like she stood utterly still, her feet cemented. Grief disproved the old “better to have loved and lost” adage. And she didn’t think she’d survive it a second time.

Fingers brushed her jawline. “Hey.”

She blinked out of her thoughts and found Owen’s concerned expression, brows furrowed over dark eyes. In that moment, she hated having worried him. This was supposed to be about him, about taking care of him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then kissed him. “I’m here.”

He dug his big hands into her hair and pushed it back off her face. “You okay?”

“Better than okay. I’m perfect. You’re perfect.”

“You’re heaven,” he murmured. From her hair, his hands skimmed down her back to her ass. He squeezed, and thrust to meet her downward strokes. “Oh, Megan, please come on me.”

She groaned. The words ignited the nerves between her thighs, set her body to jangling. Their strokes quickened, shortened, became more frantic. Their bodies met right where she needed. Her stomach clenched. Sensation pooled, tightened, detonated like a hundred brilliant fireworks.

“Owen,” she screamed, then went limp on his chest as her muscles continued to quiver.

No matter. He lifted her hips in his strong grasp, his muscled thighs continuing their dance, drawing out every last bit of ecstasy her body would provide.

Instead of leaving her sated, the intensity of her orgasm left her feeling frenzied. She pushed up on shaky arms and rode him at a hot, hard pace. Holding his gaze, she begged him with her eyes until the words spilled out. “Come, Owen. Come. I want to feel it. I want to see it. Come.”

He gritted his teeth, jaw ticking. Eyes flaring, he thrust faster, faster. Inside her, he swelled. She clenched her muscles, using her body to encourage his release. He groaned from deep down in his gut, and then his body seized and bucked. “For you. Foryouforyou,” he murmured over and over. Strong arms strapped her to his chest as his body pitched beneath hers. “Aw, angel,” he whispered reverently when he calmed. He pressed kisses everywhere his lips could reach.

After a long, quiet moment, Megan scooted down his body enough that her hips settled between his thighs and she could rest her chin on his chest and look at him.

Utter adoration shone from his gaze. He gave her a small, affectionate smile, caressed her hair, her face, her shoulders. “That was magic,” he whispered.

I love you
, she thought. She nearly choked on the strong impulse to give voice to the emotion. Her heart beat out a staccato rhythm against his abdomen, and she was glad their recent activity would mask the real reason for its current pounding sprint. Could it be true? Or was the intense pressure desperate to spring forth from the thrumming organ in her chest the product of her postcoital bliss? It would be so easy to write it off as such.

The very thought of denying her true feelings soured her stomach, made it hard to breathe. But, then, she couldn’t share them with him either. Not yet.

God, why did this have to be so hard? Why couldn’t she just be normal? Woman meets man. Woman likes man. Woman and man fall in love and live happily ever after, the end. Was that really too much to ask?

Fingers smoothed over her forehead. “Penny for your thoughts?”

She turned her head and kissed his wrist, then pulled his hand down and kissed his palm. “Just thinking about you,” she admitted.

One side of his lips quirked up in a sexy grin. “Is that right?”

Still holding his hand, she nodded, her chin rocking on his chest. “Yeah.”